


The Thick Smoke Hung and Would Not Shift

by TheWaffleBat



Series: Home From All The Ports [9]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Asthma, Dad!Herodotus, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-17 15:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaffleBat/pseuds/TheWaffleBat
Summary: What could Leonidas’ spear do to the weakness in Herodotus’ lungs? What could her fists do against the poison oily in Alkibiades’ veins? What could her sword do against the scars in Deimos’ head, old and deep and knotted and dead as the old trees around the Medusa’s lair? She was useless for those dangers, those beasts that didn’t bleed - what could she do when the thing that hurt Herodotus was his own lungs?There are many things that can kill a man, and Kassandra can kill most of them. Herodotus just has the bad luck to have something shecan't.





	The Thick Smoke Hung and Would Not Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Rudyard Kipling's _The Rhyme Of The Three Sealers._
> 
> Written for the prompt from CreedLover, which didn't quite follow properly but this was the best I could do; _This was really sweet! <3_  
>  _I read somewhere that Herodotus had a problem with his lungs, likely asthma. And there's a random banter in the game where if you move close to a volcano, he'll cough and say the fumes make it hard to breathe. Can you possibly write a fic where he has an asthma attack and Kassandra freaks out and helps him through it? Sort of return the favor for everything he's done for her?_

Thera stood there, black stone against black clouds, black-yellow smoke from its peak; hideous in the warm light of the sun at their backs while Kassandra sat with Herodotus, Ikaros murmuring concern from her shoulder.

Barnabas turned the prow from Thera's shores, taking them far from its ash that choked Herodotus' lungs and its smoke that replaced his air, the poison that leaked from its heart more toxic than just whatever fucked up Kassandra’s heart; made her hate and help Pythagoras and take from him the staff wrapped up in blankets and rags that she wanted to throw to the water turning a healthy blue as they retreated further from Thera’s rot.

Kassandra made the whetstone sing across the edge of her spear, a soothing rhythm familiar like Herodotus’ loved face was familiar but the tune the high and screeching terror choking her like a sympathy for the pain that had choked Herodotus as he clawed at his throat and couldn’t do more than draw thin, reedy breaths; drowning in Thera’s death-still air, and Kassandra helpless at his shoulder just as she’d been helpless with Barnabas’ blood warm-wet down her arm because she was a _sword_ , and a sword was only supposed to _kill_ , not _save_!

Ikaros took her hair in his beak, preened it into his idea of order, gentle for her as Kassandra was gentle when Herodotus needed help getting up from where he’d fallen to his knees, needed her shoulder to lean on just so he could fall to his seat on the bench; gentle as Herodotus was gentle when he tried to push her from her seat by his side to take up her space at the helm, ready for the pirates circling like sharks to make the mistake of thinking the Adrestia an easy target. _Worry_ , Ikaros said, turning his sharp gaze on the sea all around them, said _Ship?_ With the questioning tilt like he thought _that_ was what was worrying her, because Ikaros was only a bird, he didn’t know her real fears.

“Kassandra,” Said Herodotus, fond and exasperated and _still_ pushing for her to leave his side, his hand warm on her shoulder, thumb dug soothingly deep into the muscle of her arm. “I’m _fine_ \- the fit has passed.”

The whetstone sang again, the scream of it like her shout of terror when Herodotus didn’t stop coughing, when he started _wheezing_ like the men Kassandra had choked out because killing them was quicker but a guard slumped over sleep was easier to explain than a man slumped over dead, like someone was crushing their forearm against his throat. Someone she wanted to kill because  _how dare they_ but _couldn't_. “You _aren’t_ ,” She said, and the metal rang again. “And I don’t _care_ if it’s passed. It might come back.”

Herodotus took her wrist, stubbornly forced open her fist so he could hold her hand and putting the stone at their feet. “And what will you do if it does, hmm? My friend, I’ve had this all my life - these attacks are unpleasant, yes, but they go away soon enough.” He squeezed, looked to Thera ugly against Poseidon’s storm. “There’s no need to concern yourself.”

She looked away. Yes, there wasn’t a need to concern herself; she could kill most anything that dared show teeth or blades to her family, her crew. Pirates, the Cult, lions, what did they matter to her? Her spear or her sword thudding through the meat of their throats, their hearts, and they were dead. _T_ _his_ wasn’t something that could bleed, something that she could stab and get rid of so they’d never hurt what was hers ever again - what could Leonidas’ spear do to the weakness in Herodotus’ lungs? What could her fists do against the poison oily in Alkibiades’ veins? What could her sword do against the scars in Deimos’ head, as old and deep and dead as the old trees around the Medusa’s lair? She was _useless_ for those dangers, those beasts that didn’t bleed - what could _she_ do when the thing that hurt Herodotus was his own lungs? Herodotus knew how to take care of himself - he didn't need her fussing.

She tightened her grip around her spear, wanted to show her teeth like her wolf was showing _her_ teeth to Thera because there were so many _fucking_ things that could hurt her friends, her family, that she couldn't fight against. She knew all the ways a man could hurt another, all the ways _she_ could hurt him; she knew a hundred ways to kill a random person on the street if they happened to go mad and attack her or others. But poison and torture and someone's own body failing them was utterly beyond her and she  _hated it_!

“Kassandra,” Said Herodotus again, kind when he tugged on her arm, ducked his head to catch her eye. “My daughter, don’t worry yourself. Thera disagreed with me, that’s all.” He smiled, small and gentle; said, “There’s no need to leave on my account! Didn’t you want to look over Atlantis again? With Deimos?”

“I hate Thera,” She told him, “I never should have agreed to come back.”

Herodotus nodded wisely, smiling properly now that he seemed satisfied that the worst of Kassandra’s terror was gone, the protective grip of her hand softened inside his. “It is a terrible island,” He agreed.

Barnabas continued to take them out to the wide sweep of the sea; the wind at their back, even, like it wanted to be as far away from Thera as they did. Deimos had laughed at her for hating it, said that it was only an island, but he gave her a glance that was almost an apology, now, as he watched it disappear. He had felt the death on its slopes, the smell of it heavy in the taste of dust in the Minoan’s ruined city. There were bodies beneath the ash.

Herodotus’ body could have joined them, the shadow of Thera’s death heavy over his kind, old face, and Kassandra was helpless to stop it because Thera’s curse was just another thing she couldn’t turn her blade against.

But she could stay with him. She could sharpen her spear against what could be killed, and she could at least sit with him when he was savaged by one of the few things that _couldn’t_. Kassandra owed him too much to let him suffer alone, and she would be useless until he started breathing normally again but she could give him her arm when he wanted to stagger to a better seat than the floor, could sit next to him watching Thera disappear; swallowed by Poseidon’s anger neatly matching her own for that piece of shit that kept ruining things. She had nothing else to give him.

**Author's Note:**

> Short because there were a lot of parts that just didn't fit, and I promise I did _try_ to write an actual asthma attack, but trust me when I say that I didn't include it for a very good reason.
> 
> Also just realised I haven't written Herodotus in ages, my poor bab! I should do more with him in it. Saying that, **If anyone has any other prompts feel free to throw them at me in the comments!**


End file.
